My What!?!
by Kelly1
Summary: A cute, light, fluffy Evietro romantic comedy for all those rabid fangirls out there like myself. Come and see ^_^ -> Fic 4 batE


Evan closed his eyes, letting the hot water slide down his naked body with a sigh. Every muscle ached, burning with the dull pain from overuse in phys ed the previous day. He yawned and stretched his arms above his head, a small groan escaping from his lips. They were playing basketball this week in his gym class . . . his split-grade gym class . . . his split-grade gym class with Pietro. Needless to say the competition was a little more than friendly between the speedster and himself.   
  
Sadly, Evan was almost looking forward to next week's adventures in badminton. It was at least safer than getting randomly fouled by Pietro on every available occasion. Evan gingerly touched the bruise in the center of his chest with his fingertips and cursed. That was from one well placed elbow the refereeing teacher hadn't even seen. God, Evan hated Pietro.  
  
MY WHAT!?!  
By: Kelly  
li_luva_2000@yahoo.ca  
www.geocities.com/xpressionismx   
  
  
The air hung heavy with the smell of sweat and the murmur of idle conversation. Evan pulled his favourite well-worn basketball jersey from his gym bag, smiling with the familiarity of the smooth material against his skin. He got this feeling before every game - this unmistakable essence of power and invulnerability on the courts that oozed from his very pores and intoxicated him with its feral scent.   
  
Still half-hidden in his shirt, Evan listened in contempt as an all-too familiar voice entered the locker room, deep in conversation with someone else, " . . .so great to have the house to myself. I fucking love the Outers club. No maniacs in my house for a whole weekend and the best part is. . . Hey Daniels!" He sneered, breaking in mid sentence just to mock him, "I hate to spoil the mystery for you, but your head goes through the biggest hole in the shirt." He snickered, his laughter cold and metallic.  
  
Evan wrenched the shirt angrily over his head, feeling his ears heat up as Pietro continued his conversation with the other boy. He didn't give a shit what Maximoff had to say and stopped eaves dropping. Fuck him. Evan kept his eyes on the floor as he finished changing. As he was doing up his shoes, he felt it - a sort of tingling on the back of his neck. Someone was watching him. Evan lifted his head and met the stare of his rival for a brief second, and then the ice blue eyes flickered downward as if totally disinterested in him. Maybe Evan was going crazy.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
"MAXIMOFF! DANIELS! Two minutes on the bench! Both of you! And if either of you purposely foul each other again, you'll stay there for the rest of the period!"   
  
As Evan trotted off the court, he wondered how horrible that threat really was considering that there was only about fifteen minutes left of actual playing time before they changed and left for the day. Evan loved having Phys-ed last period . . . it meant he could use the shower at home instead of the gross school ones without reeking the rest of the day. Pietro plopped down on the bench beside him with a scowl. "Way to get us benched, Daniels," he muttered under his breath.  
  
"Me? You started it."  
  
"Brilliant use of grade three logic. Care to wow me next with your ability to spell 'ball' and 'hoop?'"  
  
"No, but I can think of a few other four letter words I'd love to share with you."  
  
"No need to resort to profanities, asswad."  
  
"Yeah, well this asswad's team is beating yours by 18 points."  
  
"Only because I've been on the bench for most of the game . . . fucking ref."  
  
"Yeah, how dare he call it when you break the rules."  
  
"Shut up, you're not exactly Mr. Morality either, Daniels. Just wait 'til we get back on the court. I'll make your game a living hell . . . without fouls."  
  
Pietro was a shadow he couldn't shake - an annoying goading shadow that was a step ahead of everything he tried to do. Every pass was blocked, every shot stopped, and all without fouls, just as the taunting Flash-wannabe had said. Dammit, he made Evan look like an amateur! He couldn't take it anymore!   
  
Pietro stood just inches behind Evan, waiting to block a shot Evan was sure to make after receiving the pass that was already being sent down the court. Evan smiled, a plan forming in his mind. It was a kamikaze little maneuver, falling like that, though it wasn't really a foul. Evan figured it would probably be enough to make Pietro back off a bit. As he caught the pass, he launched himself back on the balls of his feet, colliding with the warm close body, feeling their legs tangle helplessly as the ground rushed up to meet him. A deafening crack echoed hollowly in the gym and then all was quiet. Evan had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that something had gone wrong.  
  
He lay on the cold hardwood floor and, pulling his hand from his mouth, saw that it was tinted with blood. He had split his lip. An odd hum to his left made him turn his head. No, not a hum, the same word being repeated over and over again at an alarmingly fast pace. A steady string of "fuck" passed over Pietro's lips, his eyes closed tightly in a look of extreme pain. His nose was bleeding and Evan saw now that his right leg was twisted grotesquely, the knee bended at an odd angle and the white gleam of bone sticking up through blood-smeared flesh. Oh shit.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
Evan pushed the door to the emergency room open gingerly, removing his polka-dot helmet and sliding his board under his arm. Evan glanced down at the helmet with a sigh, it really was hideously ugly. However, Aunty O had given it to him for his birthday last year and he hated for her to think that he didn't like it. The things he did for family. He remembered once wearing this day-glo green sweater his grandma had knitted him for the entire week she had come to visit them when he was ten.  
  
At a desk to his right, a triage nurse stood with her back to him, filing something in a cabinet. He cleared his throat, "Um . . . excuse me? Could you tell me which room . . .?"  
  
She turned, a look of alarm crossing her face. "Oh my," she interrupted, coming around the desk and leading him by the shoulders behind one of the curtains. What the hell was going on? "Let's get you looked after right away."  
  
"But . . ."  
  
"Shh, come now . . ." She patted the sheets and Evan obediently sat, growing more confused by the second.  
  
"I'm just trying to find . . ."  
  
"What happened? Did you get in an accident?" She gestured to the skateboard. Evan caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His split lip glistened with red, the front of his shirt pocketed with pools of his and Pietro's drying blood that he hadn't even noticed. After skating all the way from the school to the hospital, his face was flushed and sweaty, his hair sticking to his forehead and dirt lining the contours of his face. He looked like utter shit to be honest.  
  
"Oh no . . . you see I was kind of fighting with . . ."  
  
"Fighting?" Her eyes widened and she took a small step back. Great Evan, make it sound like you're in a gang or something.  
  
"Yeah . . . I mean no. No." She was looking at him skeptically, "What I mean is . . . uh . . . you see most of the blood on my shirt isn't even mine and . . ." Oh crap, that didn't come out right either.  
  
"Of course," she soothed, indulging the psycho - smiling and nodding and backing up slowly. After removing the truly monumental foot from his mouth, Evan explained to her that he had hurt himself while playing basketball and was looking for the other person who had gotten hurt when they ran into each other, Pietro Maximoff.  
  
"Oh, are you two friends?"  
  
"Well . . . not exactly, no . . . we're more like . . . um . . ." There was no way to really finish that sentence honestly and sound less like a crazy, blood covered madman. Somehow saying they were mutant arch-enemies pitted eternally against each other didn't strike well for proving his sanity, so he just let the 'um' hang in midair.  
  
"I understand," she smiled knowingly, "I had a roommate once who was . . . you know . . ." She blushed. "Why don't you follow me?" Evan felt incredibly stupid, having no idea what exactly her roommate was, but doubting severely he was a mutant with a quasi-rival he had nearly accidently killed in a freak basketball mishap and was wracked with an inexplicable sense of guilt.   
  
She led Evan down a brightly lit, sterile smelling hallway. Evan wrapped his arms around his chest as they walked, hospitals were always way too cold for his liking and it was even worse in the sleeveless mesh jersey. Near the end of the hall, the nurse motioned for Evan to wait outside the door as she entered the room. Evan listened intently through the crack in the door.  
  
"Hi Mr. Maximoff, how are you feeling," she asked brightly.  
  
"Could be better, beautiful, but in significantly higher spirits now that you're back." Evan had to keep himself from gagging, Pietro was an absolutely sickening flirt. She giggled and Pietro continued, "I was afraid you weren't coming back to visit."  
  
"Well . . . speaking of visitors, your boyfriend's here to see you." Evan choked. His what!?!  
  
"MY WHAT!?!"   
  
"He's out in the hall. I'll go get him."   
  
Evan considered running, just bolting down the hallway and never looking back, but a twinge in his throat kept him glued to the spot like a deer in headlights. He had a sneaking suspicion that the twinge was guilt. If Lance or Todd or Fred or Tabitha had been home, Evan wouldn't have probably even come to the hospital, but he knew for a fact that they were all gone with the Outers club on a backpacking expedition in the mountains. Jean was one of the heads of the club and she'd been bitching about being stuck with the BOM since they'd signed up for the trip. Plus Pietro had been talking about it today in the locker room. Evan couldn't just leave him to fend for himself after he'd broken his leg (and quite possibly his nose.) Especially when it was partially his fault . . .   
  
The nurse opened the door and smiled at him brightly, "Go on in."  
  
Evan muttered a half-hearted thanks and entered the room like a lamb being lead to slaughter. Pietro glared at him in contempt. His leg lay out straight on the white sheets, the cast coming up about eight inches above his knee. A bandage was stretched across the bridge of his nose and dark bruises were already starting to form under his eyes, a tell-tale sign that his nose was indeed broken as well. "So torturing me physically is just step one of your little plan. You're now working on destroying my chances with women too, huh Daniels?"  
  
"Fuck off, I just came to see if you're okay. It's sort of my fault you're in here."  
  
"It's sort of your fault," he mocked, his voice rising with bitterness, "it's entirely your fault. You ran into me!"  
  
"You were crowding me."  
  
"Oh, so that justifies you breaking my leg?"  
  
"Yes!" Evan yelled, hating that he was cornered into another shouting match with the speed demon. He'd been trying to do the right thing, dammit! He took a deep breath and started again. "I mean no . . . no, it doesn't. I apologize."  
  
"Well, isn't that just fantastic." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "The great Evan Daniels took time out of his busy schedule to apologize to insignificant me. I'll alert the media." His face hardened. "There, you've done it now, you're free to go."  
  
"What have I done?"  
  
"The right thing." Evan swore sometimes that Pietro was reading his mind. "You can go back to the professor and the others now and tell them what a good little X-puppy you are without it marking up your perfect record."  
  
"They don't even know I'm here." It was true. Evan had just walked out after school. He'd told Kurt he was going boarding with his friends.  
  
"Oh I see. You don't want them to know about your little clandestine plot to kill me."  
  
"You're so full of yourself. If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it when you stole out of my wallet." Evan smiled wanly at him, "I honestly came to make sure you were going to be okay."  
  
Pietro's eyes were guarded, but he was softening. His tone became less sharp. "I'll be fine. Lance is coming soon to pick me up in the jeep." He was lying.   
  
Evan decided to play along. Pietro probably figured Evan would leave if he thought there was going to be a confrontation with Avalanche. "That's good. I'll wait around with you until he gets here. It's the least I can do."  
  
Just then, the doctor entered the room. She smiled first at Evan and then over at Pietro, holding a small bottle of pills in her left hand that rattled as she walked. "Good news, Mr. Maximoff. You're free to go. I want you to take one of these pills with each meal, and again before you go to bed until they're finished." She propped a set of crutches up against the bed as she talked. "Make sure you take them with food. They'll help keep the swelling down and lessen the pain. Also, you need to keep that leg elevated and immobile for at least two days, use the crutches after that. The hospital will call you in about four weeks to schedule an appointment for additional x-rays and the removal of the cast."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"No problem, have yourself a nice weekend." And with that she was gone.  
  
Pietro stared hard at Evan. Evan stared back, painfully aware that he could hear the seconds ticking by on the clock overhead. "So . . ."  
  
"So . . ."  
  
"Lance isn't coming, is he?"  
  
Pietro looked away, focusing his attention out the window at the passing traffic. "Um . . ."  
  
"And how exactly had you planned to get home?"  
  
"Um . . ."  
  
Evan was thoroughly enjoying seeing Pietro at a loss for words. "And may I ask how . . ."  
  
Pietro interrupted him curtly, "You don't need to be so damn smug, Daniels. I was planning on walking if you must know. Still do."   
  
Evan stopped, totally shocked. His eyes widened, "But the doctor said to stay off of it . . ."  
  
"Screw that." Pietro groaned as he swung his leg over the side of the bed, his face twisting in an asymmetric grimace. He grasped angrily at the crutches and stormed out of the room. Or at least Evan supposed he was storming . . . it was a little difficult to tell when he was going barely faster than a crawl.   
  
Evan followed him out into the hall, his board and helmet still tucked neatly under his arm. He matched Pietro's pace and walked haltingly beside him, unsure of what to say. Pietro's breath was choppy and irregular, he was struggling stubbornly. Wisps of white hair clung to the wet forehead.   
  
As quickly as the crutch started to slip Evan caught Pietro, dropping his board with a clatter and slipping his shoulder under the older boy's arm. Pietro leaned heavily on him, his face pale and sweaty from the exertion and pain. His expression darkened. "Thanks," he muttered grudgingly. Evan wondered not for the first time what it was like to feel like you didn't need anyone's help. It must've been incredibly lonely.  
  
He sat Pietro down in the middle of the hall and collected his board, helmet, and the other crutch. Pietro stared at him quizzically. "Make yourself useful and hold these Speedy."  
  
"What are you . . .? . . . no . . . NO . . . hell no!" Evan had scooped Pietro up in his arms and proceeded to carry him down the hall. Even with the cast, Evan doubted he weighed more than 120 pounds. Pietro stared at him wide-eyed. "No, come on. Have a shred of human decency, Daniels."  
  
"Do you have a better suggestion?"  
  
"You could shoot me and feed me to rabid wolves."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"It'd be more enjoyable than this."  
  
"Stop complaining." Evan walked through the sliding Exit doors, noticing the sky had grown gray. Pietro squirmed in his arms.  
  
"But . . . what if somebody see us?" His voice was forlorn, filled with utter resignation to the fact that he was going to be carried home by Evan. Evan actually found it a bit amusing.  
  
"So what? I mean, what's the big deal?"  
  
"Well, I don't know . . . um . . .it's just weird considering everyone knows we hate each other. I've got a reputation to keep up."  
  
"So?" Evan smiled a bit indulgently at him, "You just don't like not being in control." Small drops of water had begun to fall from the sky and onto Evan's bare shoulders.   
  
Pietro had no response for this. Evan supposed it was because he had hit the nail right on the head. "What if one of the other X-dorks see you?"  
  
"I'll tell them you recently developed telepathic powers and you were controlling me against my will."  
  
"I doubt they'd believe you."  
  
"And I doubt I'll see one of them. The mansion's at the other end of town."  
  
"Ah, right." Pietro fell silent. Thunder cracked mockingly from the heavens at the two boys and Evan started to jog.   
  
"You know what I just realized?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Your cast's not supposed to get wet." In a burst of lighting the clouds released a torrent of rain. Evan ran blindly for the next four blocks, Pietro telling him when to turn and trying to shield the cast as best he could with the skateboard. By the time they arrived on the porch of the Brotherhood house, both boys were soaked and out of breath. "Do you have your key with you?"  
  
"The lock's . . .um . . ." Pietro turned his face away from Evan, obviously trying to hide his embarrassment. "It's broken."  
  
"Oh." What was there to say? Evan pushed the door open and, with a little direction from his passenger, carried Pietro into the living room.  
  
"Not like we have much worth stealing anyway," he laughed, gesturing to the shabby furnishings. Evan heard a tint of discomfort in his voice. Pietro clearly didn't like being seen as poor.  
  
"I don't know about that. Tabitha alone is worth a fortune of bad makeup, gum and hair-care products."   
  
Pietro laughed. "That girl is intolerable to live with. We can only pray someone will come and take her away."  
  
"Like a mental institution?" Evan placed him gently down onto the worn brown couch, taking a seat in the opposite armchair.   
  
"I was thinking more along the lines of the circus." Pietro ran his fingers through his hair, squeezing the excess moisture out with the palm of his hand. He shivered a little.   
  
Evan felt the twinge in his throat again. "Are you cold? Do you want me to get you a towel or something?"  
  
Pietro cocked his eyebrow. "I'm fine." He looked at Evan as though he had perhaps sprouted a third arm. "If you want you could grab me a change of dry clothes but . . ."  
  
"Okay."  
  
Pietro still looked at Evan as if he'd lost his mind. "My room's the second on the right upstairs. You know what, actually? Just grab the pyjamas out from under my pillow."  
  
"No problem." Evan was halfway up the stairs when Pietro yelled at him that if he wanted to change too he could borrow something out of his closet.   
  
Pietro's room was immaculate. The dressers were free of dust, the floor clear of dirty laundry, the papers on the desk stacked with precise order, and the comforter on the bed without a single wrinkle. He peeled back the crisp sheets to reveal a neatly folded white t-shirt and silky blue basketball shorts.   
  
After removing the pj's and trying to put the pillow and bed cover back in the neurotically clean way he had found it, Evan attempted to find something for himself. Pants were no problem, in about five second he found a pair of loose black shorts that fit the bill nicely, but the shirts were an entirely different story. They all clung uncomfortably around his chest and pinched at his arms. He eventually ended up giving up, stuffing the five tops he had tried back in the drawer and just leaving his jersey off.  
  
Pietro was watching TV when Evan came back down. The sky had grown darker and rain pounded in waves against the sliding glass doors. The room was bathed in the eerie blue glow from the television. Evan tossed the shirt and shorts into Pietro's lap and flicked on a table lamp. "You'll ruin your eyes."  
  
"Yes mother," he mocked, turning to him. Pietro's eyebrows raised as he saw what Evan was wearing, or rather, what he wasn't. "That's an interesting choice of attire. And to think all this time I didn't even know I had invisible clothing."  
  
"It's not my fault. I think you've got an abnormally narrow torso or something."  
  
"Yeah, it's my torso's fault. It apologizes profusely." He smirked, eying Evan's bare chest for a brief moment. Pietro pulled his wet shirt over his head and replaced it with the white one, the fluid motion talking no more than a second. Evan watched dumbfounded as delicate thumbs slid under the waist of Pietro's gym shorts, drawing them over the defined hipbones, down . . . down . . down past the black silk boxers which contrasted deliciously with the pale skin . . . Evan looked away quickly. Pietro actually laughed.  
  
"Geez, Daniels, you'd swear we'd never changed in front of each other like a million times in the locker room." Another wry chuckle escaped his lips, "Besides, it's nothing my 'boyfriend' shouldn't be used to seeing."  
  
"Shut up."  
  
"Another precious gem from the wit vault of Evan Daniels . . . blegh, News." Evan couldn't help but be fascinated at how quickly the channels flipped by on the TV. "Why is there only news on at 6 o'clock?"   
  
"I dunno."  
  
"It was a rhetorical question, keep up."  
  
"Shut . . . uh . . . never mind. Wait a minute, did you just say six?"  
  
"Indeed I did. You'll learn to tell time soon, Daniels, don't give up hope."  
  
"Fuck off."  
  
"It tends to work better if you fuck on, you know."  
  
"Will you give it a rest?"  
  
"I can rest plenty when I'm dead. Right now I'm having far to much fun screwing with your mind."  
  
"I've noticed," retorted Evan dryly. "Anyway, I've got to call home." Evan retrieved a cordless phone from the nearby end-table and dialed the number for the mansion. He was surprised when it was picked up halfway through the first ring - that was abnormally fast even for a household filled with teenagers.   
  
A chipper voice grated in his ear, "Lance? Oh my God, I thought you had gone on that camping trip-thingy. Not that I'm not, like, happy you're here, it's just like wow, you know?" Dammit! Evan had forgot about the call display . . . of course it would appear as the Brotherhood's number, and of course Kitty would assume it was Lance.  
  
"Uh, Kitty it's Evan."  
  
"Evan? But what are you doing at the Broth-"  
  
"Shh . . . don't announce it to the whole house for God's sakes." Pietro was watching him from the couch, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Yes, I'm at the Brotherhood's house. I need you to cover for me, Kitty." He was so screwed, Kitty kept secrets like a sieve kept water. "Tell everyone I'm staying at . . . uh . . . Matt's and we're working on a project or something."  
  
"Okay, but first you have to tell me what you're doing there. Isn't the whole group away on that excursion thing?"  
  
"Uh . . ."  
  
"Yeah, that's what Lance said. Wait a minute, it was every one except . . OH MY GOD, PIETRO! But you, like, hate Pietro . . . or maybe that's just what you want us to think. You're having a romantic tryst with Pietro, aren't you?" She was practically squealing.  
  
"I AM NOT HAVING A ROMANTIC TRYST WITH ANYBODY, ESPECIALLY PIETRO!" Pietro had totally abandoned watching the TV now and devoted his sole attention to the phone conversation. His eyes sparkled in pure unadulterated amusement.   
  
"That's like so awesome. You guys and Lance and I could go on double dates and stuff and . . ."  
  
"Kitty, we are not going on a double date with you and Lance. There is no we! There is Pietro, there is me, but there is no we!" Pietro was rolling with silent laughter on the couch. Evan shot him a death glare.  
  
"That's a little harsh, Evan lovely, I think a double date would be fun." Pietro said this loud enough for Kitty to hear.  
  
This time she actually did squeal, "See!"  
  
Evan sighed. "Goodbye Kitty, remember I'm at Matt's, right?"  
  
"And we could go shopping and . . ."  
  
"Goodbye Kitty."  
  
"And to the movies and . . ."  
  
"Goodbye Kitty."  
  
"Ciao, have a fun tryst!"  
  
"It is not a . . ." Click. ". . . tryst." He glowered at Pietro. "You are such an ass. Why did you do that? You do realize that's going to be all over the mansion in about ten seconds, don't you?"  
  
"I think you just answered your own question, Einstein." His smirk was infuriating.   
  
"Ass fuck," Evan glowered.  
  
Pietro eyes lit up with a mischievous grin. "Now or later?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Never mind, Daniels." He shifted his position on the couch, a hard grimace contorting the features of his face. "Shit that hurts," he cursed to himself. The grimace was replaced with a slow smile. "If only I had some food so I could take the pain pills the doctor gave me, but alas, I don't."  
  
"Was that a subtle hint that you want me to make you dinner?"  
  
"It's the least you could do."  
  
"No, the least I could do is absolutely nothing."  
  
"So you're just going to sit there and watch me die of starvation?" Pietro gasped in mock horror. "Just watch as I wither and decompose and . . ."  
  
"God, you're so melodramatic."  
  
"Ain't it great?"  
  
Evan rolled his eyes. "Yeah, just fantastic. So, what do you guys have to eat around here?"  
  
"Bat wings and chicken necks," answered Pietro evenly, "Before she left Mystique said they'd improve our powers."  
  
"Really?"   
  
"No, shitbrick. You really are gullible. What do you think we have to eat? Maybe it's not all the fancy name brand stuff you X-geeks dine on, but we do enjoy perfectly normal food . . . well, except Todd but . . . you know. Black sheep complex or something." He shrugged. "I think there are some noodles and a can of spaghetti sauce in the cupboard."   
  
"Alright." Evan made his way to the run-down kitchen. He hummed to himself as he put the water on to boil and set the table, he actually enjoyed cooking. Not that he'd admit to it. The water frothed and bubbled pleasantly and, by the time he had added the pasta, he had broken into full fledged song, using the spoon as a microphone and totally forgetting himself.  
  
Slow, deliberate applause snapped him harshly back to reality. Pietro stood, grinning at him, leaning against the doorway for support. "The hidden talents of Evan Daniels - cooking, cutlery concerts . . ."  
  
"Aren't you supposed to be resting your leg on the couch?"  
  
"I suppose," he yawned, "but Ted Koppel's not the most scintillating company. Besides, I'd never miss an opportunity to see you make an ass of yourself."  
  
"So I've noticed." Pietro made his way gingerly to one of the kitchen chairs, half-collapsing with a groan. Evan was flooded with pity and concern. "You really should stay off it though Pietro. You don't want it to heal wrong." Evan retrieved the bottle of pills for Pietro and brought him a glass of water. Dinner was almost ready anyway.  
  
"Yeah. . ." He quickly changed the subject, swallowing the pill and clearing his throat. "You know, I'm surprised there's no fire alarm going off yet."  
  
"For your information I happen to be a great cook."  
  
"What I mean is, I'm surprised there's no fire alarm going off yet because your sauce is smoking, oh great cook."  
  
"My sauce is - ?" Evan turned back to the stove, dark grey clouds rising out of the pot. "Oh shit."  
  
As Evan rinsed the smoldering blackened pot in the sink, he heard a dry snicker over his left shoulder. "I'm surprised the renowned culinary schools of the world haven't snatched you up yet, Daniels."  
  
"I'd love to see you do any better . . ." Evan snapped, spinning angrily around. His words died in his throat as he realized Pietro was much closer than he thought, the pale aquiline face just inches from his own. The pot clattered noisily in the sink as he dropped it in surprise, the water still rushing down from the ancient tap. Pietro reached over him with deliberate slowness and shut it off - inhuman slowness, graceful slowness - his small chest pressed gently against Evan's in prolonged, teasing enticement.   
  
Evan barely heard it, the deep throaty whisper amid dozens of warm, wet, soft fireflies dancing across the nape of his neck, "I cook much better in the bedroom." He froze in indecision as the fireflies moved delicately down his neck and across his collar bone, Pietro tracing the path with intent but tender lips. What was Evan going to do?  
  
It would be easy - so easy just to pull away, to slip back into the same old taunting "I-hate-you-because-we're-supposed-to-be-enemies" bullshit that had kept him from precisely this moment. Too easy really. He would have had enough after this little stunt to mock Pietro for life. But that wasn't what would have made him happy . . . how could Evan have gotten it so horribly wrong for this long? It wasn't teasing the Speedster that lightened his mood, it was the pure interaction. It was igniting that passion that lit up the ice blue eyes and tinged the sarcastic parlays - the passion that was now driving quick sensual pecks down his neck.   
  
But Pietro was faltering. His eyes searched Evan's face for some indication as to whether or not he should continue, the eyebrows raised in uncertainty. Evan flashed him a devilish grin before scooping him up again in his arms, this time meeting no resistance, the kisses against his bare chest growing more insistent. Rapid little bullets of wanton passion tickled him, too swift in excitement to elicit the proper reaction before another was placed.   
  
Evan couldn't let him get away with that. He drew Pietro's chin up with his free hand, running his tongue over his lips as the older boy watched intently - mesmerized. There was an art to being slow. As Evan made his way up the stairs to his bedroom, he drew him into a deep long passionate kiss. By the time he deposited the lithe body on the immaculate sheets, Pietro was out of breath. He ran his fingers through his shimmering silvery hair, his eyes never leaving Evan. He smirked. "You do realize that we're now going to have to go on double dates with Kitty and Lance, don't you?"  
  
Evan laughed, flopping himself playfully onto the bed next to the speedster. God, Evan loved Pietro.  
  
~The End~  
  
AN: Special super kudos to batE for beta-reading like a champ and reassuring me that this story wasn't the ubercrap I thought it was. You know, you could do that too if you clicked on that pretty little review box down there . . . (aren't I subtle?) Thanks for reading! ^_^ 


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